Stories with Sad Endings
by Octoya
Summary: Doodles in words, moments in a world called Evillious where tragedy is rampant and everything comes to an end eventually. Rated T for sum of chapters, not the content of individual stories.
1. Want

That cruel face that frightens me still. If I look close enough, I can see it in the faces of my sleeping children.

I know, inside, that a mother must not hate her young. I know that there is a pain that can never be removed when they look in her eyes and know she does not love them; it was born on me when my own parents left me behind.

But the truth is, I never wanted them.

I never wanted this.

Being outcast. Seeing the fearful faces of my neighbors, the hateful eyes of people I once called friends when I am denied entrance to the local church. Other mothers hiding their children from me when I walk into the market. My neighbors sabotaging my efforts when I go out to work in the field. Having parents that were ashamed of me.

I never wanted that.

I never wanted them.

But it was because of him that I am this way. I never wanted him either...

...Even if sometimes I thought I did.

A violent person, a child from the capital streets, he shouldn't have ever come to our village. If he had just been a little less willful, he wouldn't have. But when he came to our house, and our eyes met, that was when my whole life changed.

I wonder if his life changed...?

It only took him a few years to go back to the capital.

And then I was all alone.

Not completely alone—but these children with their faces like his did not give me any comfort. Him being gone again, after the days of my anxiety also did not give me comfort. I was already stained by him to everyone, no one wanted to be stained by me as well. I understand that feeling.

I can see them sleeping even now. They both have so much growing left to do. My Sarah and Zenon—his Sarah and Zenon.

When they grow up, will they just become even more like him?

I don't love these children. I don't want to see them grow up.

I don't want to be here. I don't want this life.

My feelings burn inside my chest and it's even worse than it's ever been. Inside our little house, where we have no food and no warmth, my chest feels hot and my  
stomach feels sick.

In the middle of the night I was like this, every day.

Why is it that these two can sleep when I can't? Can you understand?

The only thing of value in our house is that sword above our broken fireplace. And even that isn't of any value. I only keep it because…maybe one day he would come back for it.

I get up from our bedroom and leave those sleeping children behind, into the only other room where that sword was.

Looking at it only serves to confuse me.

It hurts…Being hated by everyone, it hurts…looking at the two of them every day, it hurts…being like this, being tainted, it hurts. There's only one thing I want, but it hurts to get it.

Reaching out and feeling that sword's edge, my feelings surge inside me.

I go outside where there's firewood tied in a bundle. I untie the logs and carry the rope back inside.

I set up a chair and I stand on it. It's hard but I tie the rope to the rafters.

My hands don't even tremble when I tie the rope around my neck.

And jump.


	2. Wait

The door opened and she'd walked in before I even realized it. He was too absorbed in his work to hear the creaks, scribbling on paper pinned on the wall, teeth clenched tightly and pins scattered by his feet.

Undetected, the girl reached over and snatched the paper out of his hands, and the pen dropped to the floor. "Hey you~, what's this?"

His open palm slapped the chipped wall. "Give that back, please."

She waved the paper with a smile, and she looked over the rest of his work.

Sheets of handwritten observations and grimy, blood-stained pictures were pinned in groups with faded ink labels.

Ancient newspaper clippings, also smeared with blood, were put on the sides with passages circled; writing on the margins overflowed to the wall itself.

A box had been tacked on with great care that held filled cards, and a long sheet of paper was falling down to the floor, half covered in His minuscule writing.

Tied to many of the pins, connecting the groupings together, were rolls of wispy string.

"In fact," looking upon the wall, she found faces that looked like her own among the pictures. "What's _all_ of this? I should come in your room more often, this wasn't here last year."

"It is just—"

"Isn't it enough for you to make plays? Why did you put all this nonsense up on the wall? You must be really stupid."

He snapped the paper out of her grasp, not bothering to stand. "It is none of your business. It isn't doing you any harm, so leave me alone."

She traced a finger over a drawing of twin children, both lacking a face. She started to rifle through the cards in the box, ignoring his growl next to her. "Well it must be somebody's business. What's this one, it has _her_ label on it. Ooh, and there's one for the sorceress too?"

"Give those back-!"

While he tried to retrieve them, she pressed a hand against his forehead and stepped back at her full arm's length, dodging the cards from his clawing hands. "Ohohoho!

_'This one is especially dangerous, but admittedly I won't worry about her as much. Her motivations are the most unclear, but since the public has known her, she was a mysterious figure. What is a screenwriter doing in such a place? Is she really a magician?'_

"Ehh!?" She tossed the guard back to him and held up the other with a shrill laugh.

"Give them back before I—"

She went on,

_"'She is also someone to be carefully watched. Since she drinks blood most of all and shares a face with that Duke, I wonder if the vampire legend is true after all...'_

Hhahahaha!" She tossed the card back at him. "This is too stupid! Are you trying to figure us out? You'll never know the truth!"

"By that, do you mean to say I am wrong? If it's only your opinion, then give me back my things."

"Is there something about me in here?" She again started to rifle through the box, until she found it nested in the back. "Hoho, I thought so!"

"Spoiled girl!"

Although she was small, she slammed his head to the floor and laughed, "What did you write about me?"

"Oogh..."

By the time he looked up, her smile was gone.

'_Not dangerous. Saved my life, though holds it over me—with the least reason, she is the most pretentious here. But I also think she is the most unhappy. I wonder if she also lost someone precious to her...'_

the girl read.

"..."

For a moment, the girl's eyes looked different.

But then her smile became wider than ever, grabbing a handful of cards from the box, "I'm going to show this to everybody! HAHAHAHAHA-"

He lunged and missed, "Stop!"

"HHAHAHahahahaAHa-!"

Laughing wildly, the creature with a young girl's miserable face skipped from the room, gone in an instant. Her voice echoed like a dying horse's cries.

He remained on his knees, rubbing his head.

He had the scrap left from when he'd begun.

He picked up the paper, pressed it against the floor, and resumed writing with an inaudible sigh.


	3. Wicked

The first time they met, it was in prison. A dark prison underneath the city, where they kept the more powerful mages. His cell was near the front, where new arrivals were held. He'd felt the effect of runes that sapped his magic, little by little, until he was sure that his power wasn't a threat anymore.

His arms they had encased in a sort of harness, keeping them pressed together. And not having much to do without use of his hands, he sat in the dark and waited for them to put him to death.

But they didn't put him to death like he had expected and hoped.

Instead, they sent a woman into his cell. A very pretty, gentle looking woman. He didn't know what to say.

So she spoke first, "Your name is Kiril Clockworker, correct?"

And when he spoke, his voice trembled just as his body was, full of tension from captivity, "Who are you?"

"It's funny," she kept going, looking at a file in her hands. "You don't look like an HER."

He looked exactly like an HER. He shared a face with one of the most famous ones, after all. But he didn't feel the need to correct her. He just wanted to know what she was doing in his cell. "What's your name."

"...It's Elluka Chirclatia," she did a little curtsy in a grey priestess dress, and he felt his teeth chattering. He gritted them and continued to listen, as she continued to talk, "I was told that I might be able to help with your situation."

"Are you..." Without him meaning to, all the blood drained from his face. "Are you the one who's going to kill me?"

"N-no." As she said that, he sighed. "It does say here that you requested to die. But why is that?"

With his strained voice he said, his fingers twitching, "That would be the reason why I'm here in the first place. They didn't put these restraints on me. I asked for them. You already know what I am. Why would you ask why I want to die? Just be happy I'm right here and do it!"

It seemed that he shocked her; she looked back to him and the file for a second. "It says here that you never killed anyone."

"Not yet."

"So… You don't want to kill anyone?"

"I do. And that's why I need to die." He looked back down at the floor as if two weak to keep his head up.

"You don't need to die."

She said it with so much confidence, that it made him look back up. On her face was a gentle smile, and although his body tensed, she came to kneel right down in front of him. He took in a sharp breath.

Her red lips parted and her blonde ringlets rested on his knees, "Don't give up. I can help you."

So she did.

* * *

Back then, it was easy. He knew what wrong and right was, what was a bad thing to do and what was a good thing to do. Because he always listened to her, who had purified him of his HER Syndrome.

But then came the night when he listened to her and did the wrong thing.

Was he really still no better than a HER? Until he knows that, he can't meet with her again.

Not yet.

Girls like her are only at risk from wicked people.


End file.
